Entries of Life
by Johnlocked7
Summary: Sherlock describes his life and events within a journal over the years.
1. Entry One

Growing up, I was always taught that being ordinary was more or less a sin. Of course, my brother does like to be dramatic.

I was five when my brother told me that being smart is more important than being a regular kid. He taught me how to memorize, how to build a mind palace, and how to analyze. He told me that no one would want to be friends with me unless I was smart, because who would want to be friends with someone who still plays with his soldiers?

I used to think that you could be both smart and playful, but it is no to be so. Growing up I was more into puzzles than anything else; aside from my soldiers, of course. I could sit for hours examining and solving all kinds of puzzles - sometimes even codes - and it would never bore me for a second.

But he was right, my brother. No one wanted to be my friend, whether I was smart or not. I would always take my analyzing too far, thus I always ended up with either a broken nose, jaw, ribs, fingers, you name it. I'll admit that I don't know where certain limits lie. I don't know if I'm saying the wrong thing or not; I'm just doing what I was taught as a child.

I don't think anyone cares, though. If I could stop all of this then I would, but I don't know how. It's not easy having your brain go 100 miles per hour in thought. Never stopping to rest; sometimes I go days without sleeping, eating, or even using the bathroom. I just don't know how to stop it.

Sometimes, though, I'll have someone tell me that it's alright. That I just have a big brain, that it's overrun by too many things going all at once, and that they _understand_. That makes me happy. Nothing else has ever made me truly happy than having someone tell me that it's okay to be the way that I am.

I don't know how other people are going to react to the things that I tell them. I don't understand body language or the basic human mind all that well just yet. I only know how to deduce, and all that does is get me into trouble. I just wish that I could be _normal_.

I wish that I could walk down the street without people glaring at me, or whispering to their significant other, or calling me a freak like Sally Donovan does. I wouldn't mind it if it were just her, but it feels like the whole world is in agreement. I'm either a freak, a weirdo, a disappointment, a psychopath, or - and this is my absolute favorite - _mentally ill._ People actually think that I'm mentally ill because I have a thought process 10x faster than they do.

I know that I shouldn't let it get to me, that feelings are meaningless, but I can't. I just can't. It does hurt. It stings. It really hurts to know that being different (in my case) is considered _freakish._


	2. Entry Two

I met someone today. Not in the way you're thinking, mind, but he's nice. Even nicer than most of the people I meet. His name is John Watson, he's an invalided army doctor, and he actually thinks that what I do is _amazing, fantastic,_ and _extraordinary._ Those were his exact words, and the moment he said them, my heart just about stopped.

It felt like the world had stopped spinning when he said those things. It gave me a feeling of happiness for a moment, and then one of dread, because what if he didn't think those things after being around me for so long, assuming he'll agree to be my flatmate? What if he gets tired of me being smart? What if I'm not _ordinary_ enough?

I sound like some lovestruck fool, but I'm not. It's just - this might be my first and actual real friend, and I don't want to chase him away with my being too clever. I don't want him to see me as a freak. I want him to see me as _amazing, fantastic,_ and _extraordinary._

I have to go now, we're on a case. I don't know why I announce my leave to you, a journal, but it feels right to do so. Until later.

* * *

Well, we solved the case of the suicides, which all turned out to be murder. The man behind it all was dying and needed money to provide for his kids, so he turned to someone to help him out. He said the man's name is Moriarty, but the name is unfamiliar to my ears. I'll have to do some research on it later.

* * *

John got mistaken as my date today, which was quite amusing. He denied it, but I said nothing because it was fun to watch him squirm about it. He then asked me later if I had a girlfriend or boyfriend, which was quite odd. Or is that a normal question to ask someone you've only just met a few hours ago? I don't know, I don't know how normal people interact.

I solved John's problem with his leg today, as well. He had a psychosomatic limp in his right leg. His idiotic therapist had prescribed him for medicine, even though it's all mental, quite literally; but I healed him, in a way. We were chasing after the cabbie - the one who had killed all of those people - and he never once went back for his cane.

I had called Angelo later that night to ask him if he would be so kind as to bring John his now useless cane, and he was all too happy to oblige. John was shocked, to say the least, but he soon realized that it was all inside his head.

It was in those last moments of the night that John had agreed to become my flatmate, and quite possibly a very good friend of mine.


	3. Entry Three

We had a tricky case this week. Someone was leaving threats all over London,in spray paint. They didn't make any sense at first, but everything clicked once we had all the right evidence. We caught who was behind it all, albeit with an edge of danger in the process. I'll explain later.

* * *

I asked John if he wanted to go out - well, suggested, really - for dinner, and he thought I was asking him _out._ Which, now that I look back on it, I sort of was, I suppose. But he said he already had plans with a girl from work, which is never a good idea, John. I won't say that I didn't feel dejected, because I did. But John can live his life the way he wishes, and if that is going on a date with a girl instead of rather than then I shall respect his decision.

* * *

John and his date had been taken that night and it was up to me to find them, which I did. People are so dull and ignorant to think that they're clever, but they're not. They're idiots, every single one of them. Except, of course, for John and myself. And Mrs. Hudson. And Molly Hooper.

* * *

As I was saying earlier, we found the people who had taken John and Sara(h). They had them sat in chairs in a tunnel. Facing Sara(h) was the device that they had used in the circus earlier that week that shot off an arrow into its target.

For some odd reason, they kept getting John confused with myself. It proved to be a good distraction, as John would keep saying that he was not who they think he was, but they would not believe him, for he held my wallet with my ID, as I later found out.

For each moment he denied their assumed identity of himself, I had more time to get to them. Upon my arrival I was able to take down the woman's little dogs, and John was able to save Sara(h) all the while taking out the last dog. I do not know what happened to the woman, however, as I was more worried about John and getting him back to safety. He seemed alright, and said he was so, but I could see that his nerves were all over the place.

I wanted to help John, but I didn't know how. It's not every day you get kidnapped, and I've never been in that situation, so I just let him be. After a day or two, he seemed fine again, and our days went on. But he wasn't - isn't - fine. I can hear him at night when he wakes from his nightmares. I wish I knew how to help him, but I'm at a loss. I'm never at a loss, and that scares me. Oh, John, I'm so sorry that I am so useless.


	4. Entry Four

I cannot even begin to describe today's events. First, John was on my back about the stupid solar system - which I'm very much aware of, thank you - then there was an explosion. And then, as if those two weren't enough, Mycroft paid me a visit. I'm starting to think that it's not just people giving me hell, but the entire universe.

* * *

My first ever case has just resurfaced itself, though not in a way I would have expected. I have a deep suspicion that this bomber is the so-called Moriarty that the cabbie mentioned a while back, but I can't be so sure just yet.

* * *

Update on my very first case; it's been solved. We lost a life or two on the way, but that's life. I know, that's probably not a good thing to say, but it's the truth. You can't always sugarcoat these kind of things. People need to know that all lives end, no matter the circumstances. Yes, it is sad, but not to me; to me it's just a life ending, going somewhere else in this enormous universe.

* * *

Tonight was a very starry night. It was beautiful. I know, I don't care much about the solar system and the such, but that doesn't mean that I can't appreciate it.

* * *

John doesn't realize it, but he is smarter than he gives himself credit for. Half of this case was solved by him, and him alone, while I solved the other half. He never credits himself for it though, he's always saying that I'm the one doing the solving, but that's not entirely true. John, one of these days you are going to realize that you _are_ just as smart as I am, and you _are_ just as important to these cases.

* * *

I finally got to meet this Moriarty fellow. Turns out, it's Jim from IT - the man Molly was dating whom I deduced was gay, which I'm still sure he is, going by the way he announces things. But that doesn't matter. He strapped a bomb to John, and oh how I was livid. I will admit, I was also terrified.

I thought I was going to the pool to meet Moriarty alone, but John stepped out from his hiding spot, a huge jacket covering his entire upper body. I was momentarily confused, I'll admit, but the moment I looked into John's eyes I knew something was wrong, for he was doing Morse code by blinking SOS.

I demanded that Moriarty show himself, and he did, albeit smugly. As he walked towards John and I, I was tempted to just shoot him right then and there, but I decided to wait out the moment, see what his next move was going to be before I place mine.

As we were talking, John, dear sweet John, had jumped on Moriarty's back once he was distracted. I thought he would have let up by then, but his snipers pointed their annoying red dots on myself, thus causing John to extract himself from the psychopath's body. That sounds lewd, doesn't it?

Moriarty left at one point, leaving John and I on edge, but he returned only moments later with his snipers trained on us once more.

John and I then came to a silent agreement that if the only way to stop this madman is to shoot the bomb and blow all of us up at once, then we would die together doing so.

I was moments from pulling the trigger when Moriarty's phone began to ring. He answered it, and whoever was on the other line must have changed their mind about something because Moriarty looked just about ready to strangle someone, and I'm glad that it wasn't myself or John.

Once again he changed his mind and left us for good. John and I went back home - I like the sound of that. _Home._ \- and made ourselves a cup of tea to calm our raging nerves. That night I don't think either of us slept for fear that we might be taken away in the middle of the night. Now that we know who Moriarty is and what he can do, it has us a bit worried. I only hope that I can protect John better in the future.


	5. Entry Five

Well today was quite amusing. John called with a case, which I still have to look deeper into as it is quite frustrating. Mycroft called with a case, as well; or rather, he had his men sent to my flat to pick me up. I was annoyed with him from the day before, so I refused to get dressed and showed up in Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet.

Mycroft was not amused, but John was, which made me happy. John had had a pretty rough week, so anything to make him feel better than he has been is more than a pleasure for me to do; even if it's being stark naked in nothing but a sheet in the home of the Royal family.

* * *

Mycroft was dull in his request, as ever. He wants me to take on a client I know nothing about. I have never done this. I always do a little research before I meet a client, assuming there's anything the least bit interesting about them.

I agree to do this, if only to get Mycroft off of my back. He has been nothing but nosy, annoying, and dull for the past few days, and it is getting on my nerves.

* * *

This client, Irene Adler, also known as The Woman, is quite interesting. She is smart, more smart than the average person; although, I hate to bust her bubble, but I happen to be smarter. I was a bit shocked when Miss Adler first announced herself, naked; although I realized later why she had done it.

Three Americans stormed into the room, pointing guns at all three of us, wanting access to the safe that she was so protecting. Miss Adler informed me that she had already given me the code, but I did not understand until one of the Americans told another to shoot John. That's when I panicked and realized: the code was her measurements.

I'll admit that I did have a look at her body as she stepped in - if only to try and deduce anything about her - as my mind collects _any_ type of data that is so given. I entered the code, ducked down, and took out the American pointing his gun at me as John and Miss Adler did the same to the other two.

As Miss Adler was distracted, I took the phone, but she injected me with something moments after and took it back. Anything after that moment is a blur as I woke up in my bed, at home, in 221B Baker Street.

* * *

I woke from a dream I was having about what happened earlier that day, and just when I was almost back asleep, I woke again to the sound of my phone going off; but it was not the normal tone it had been set to. Miss Adler changed it to a moan; her moan. Now every time I get a text, that is the sound it makes. She texts me constantly, but I ignore them each time. All she does is flirt, which is unfamiliar to me. I refuse to let her think that she is special in any way if I reply.

* * *

According to John, Miss Adler had escaped without a trace. The next day I get sent her mobile in the mail, and the day after that I am told that she is dead and to confirm it at the morgue. I can't explain how I felt, and still feel, about the situation. I suppose it made me angry, sad, and happy at the same time, although I have no idea why. Maybe because this woman is another mystery, who knows.

* * *

A week later I follow John to a warehouse where I also found Miss Adler, who then talks to John privately. I stay hidden in the shadows because I don't want her to know that I know she is alive, but her text announced my presence. I left without a single word to either of them and headed back to Baker Street, where I then found out that the same Americans who interrupted us last time had broken in and taken Mrs. Hudson as hostage upstairs.

I handled that situation with ease and was hoping to finally relax and have some time to myself after all these busy days, but was surprised to find Miss Adler asleep in my bed. She had come back for the phone, which I, unfortunately, failed to open while it was in my possession.

* * *

Fast forward to the next few days; Moriarty shows up again. Not physically, of course, but through a text to Mycroft. Bond Air was a failed and canceled plan. Miss Adler had something to do with it, I'm sure, otherwise she wouldn't have come back once again, asking to be protected. Unfortunately for her, she was sent away. Fortunately for her, so was I. We worked together to get her out of the situation she was in and made her disappear once more, although permanently this time.

* * *

I must say, now that she's gone I find myself bored. She was an interesting case, and now that she's left, everything just seems so dull, per usual. Except John, of course. John is never boring; he can never get boring. Unless, of course, he's watching crap telly. Then he's dead to me.


	6. Entry Six

I upset Mrs. Hudson this morning. I didn't mean to, of course, and I still feel bad about it. I was going crazy, not having a case. My mind would not slow down or stop; it would rattle on and on, like a never ending train, and I just couldn't stop it. John told me to apologize to Mrs. Hudson, but I just couldn't; not when I was right about Mr. Chatterjee having a wife that no one, except myself, knew about; and not even one, but two.

* * *

John has hidden my cigarettes from me. I know, I told him to, but I am going absolutely insane without a case! I need to do something with my mind. I need to get out of here, but I have nowhere to got that is interesting. Lestrade hasn't even called up with anything in weeks and it is driving me mad.

* * *

Finally, we have a case! Well, two, actually; but they account for one when you think about it. Case number one is a rabbit in which it is described as 'glowing'. The second case is one of much more interest. The client, Henry, came to John and I about a hound. According to him it is what killed his father when he was a child. He's made a documentary on it and everything, but no one believes him. I believe he did see something happen, but I can't be sure that it was a gigantic hound.

* * *

When we got to Baskerville, John pulled rank. Needless to say, it was quite . . . interesting. He had to convince the people who worked there to let us in, while I had to use Mycroft's key card in order to gain access; it only took him 23 minutes to receive a notification that I had done so. He's slipping, my dear brother. Used to, it would take less than ten.

* * *

There's something not right about Bob Frankland. I don't know what it is about him just yet, but I will find out soon. Then there's Stapleton. Her daughter's rabbit - the glowing one - had gone missing. But from what I gather, it's rather dead. Good news for our case, bad news for her daughter.

* * *

John and I took Henry back to the moors to see if we could come across this supposed hound, which we did. Henry claims he saw it, but I only heard it. It was a bit concerning, but I know that gigantic hounds are less likely to exist. I denied having seen or heard anything because I knew that it was all mental, and I mean quite literally, mental. Inside our heads. I just have to figure out a way to prove that.

* * *

I had a small row with John and I think I upset him. I can't worry about that now, we'll get over it in time.

* * *

John keeps trying to convince me that the hound isn't real, even though he heard something out there, too. He thinks I got myself worked up. That makes me feel, well, I don't know. I never get myself worked up. But he insists.

* * *

I told John that I don't have friends, and he said 'I wonder why'. I know why. I'm repulsive, ignorant, arrogant, dismissive, heartless, etcetera. If I ever met myself, I wouldn't want to be around me. I honestly don't understand why John stays, I really don't. But I'm glad that he does, even when I am having bad days or acting some way or another. It's so very like John; giving everyone a chance. Forgiving so easily; I don't get how he can do that. Then again, he is ordinary. But not in a bad way.

* * *

I think I'm getting somewhere with this case. I think that whatever is causing Henry to see this hound, to hear it's growl, is a drug. I don't know how it's getting into his system or through what, but I'm sure it is a drug.

* * *

Coffee! Henry drinks coffee every morning, and what does he put in his coffee? Sugar. I'm almost certain that the drug, whatever it may be, is in his sugar. I needed to test this theory, so I took a few packets of his sugar and made a cup of coffee with it for John; after, of course, we sorted out our row from earlier. I suppose it was my apology. He drank it, so now I only needed to practice my theory.

* * *

As we get back to Baskerville, I sent John into the lab we toured when we first arrived. I watched him on camera in the security room for a moment before playing a recording of a growling beast into one of the microphones. John scrambles to get out, but I had locked all of the doors. After another moment of watching John panic I make my way into the lab to come to his rescue. I tell him that we have all been drugged, then proceed to examine the sugar I used in John's coffee.

I found nothing within the sugar, and this just frustrated me to no end. But then a thought came to mind from before; hound. I had told John earlier that it might not be a word, but an acronym: H.O.U.N.D. Then there's the words that Henry remembered; Liberty and In. But they aren't words, they're a place. Liberty, Indiana. America. Frankland had been to America recently, going by how he said cell, rather than mobile. It all clicked together then; Bob Frankland was our man. Now we just needed to prove it.

* * *

Later that night we all went back to the moors, where I later found out that the drug is within the fog, which was released by pressure pads buried in the ground. You step on them, you release the fog, therefore releasing the drug. It's quite brilliant, really. But terrifying.

* * *

The fog messed with my head, making me believe that Moriarty was there with us, but it wasn't him, it was Frankland. The moment we - I - figured it all out, Frankland began to run. We all ran after him, but he jumped a fence right into the mine field, thus blowing himself up. I had never seen something happen like that before, so I was a bit startled; but John, I'm sure, has seen it a thousand times and more.

* * *

That next morning, the drug left our systems. John, slow as ever, figure out that I had set up the whole lab experiment with him. He's quite clever, John. Once the entirety of the case was solved, John and I went back to Baker Street, where I formally apologized to Mrs. Hudson. Henry will now live in peace, and Lestrade will know better than to not give me any cases, even while he's on holiday.


End file.
